


What Would Never Be

by Innwich



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Carnival, Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be, Fortune Telling, Holding Hands, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innwich/pseuds/Innwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Wishverse from 2x20 <i>What Is and What Should Never Be</i>. Dean just broke up with Carmen and had a drinking problem. Life was less than perfect. When a fair passed through town, Dean was told to seek advice from a blue-eyed fortune-teller, and got something totally unexpected in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Would Never Be

After Carmen took her stuff with her, the house was oddly empty.

Carmen left him all their pictures, so Dean spent an entire Saturday afternoon throwing out their framed photos and photo albums, along with a bookshelf of books that Carmen finished years ago.

It ended with a stupid argument.

Carmen didn’t want to marry but he thought they were ready. Then she started talking about his job and how he would never get anywhere working in a garage, and he retorted that her shift schedule at the hospital was shit and she was never home anyway. The argument escalated quickly. They fought about his drinking problem and his money problem, and it all went to hell from there.

Dean knew he had a problem, many problems. He was just sick of everyone thinking they needed to point it out for him.

“I’m sorry to hear it, honey,” Mom said over the phone. She sounded sincere. “You and Carmen were good together.”

“Yeah. Well, she didn’t think it was working anymore,” Dean said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine, Mom.” Dean drained the dregs from his bottle. “I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“Dean,” Mom said. Her tone turned soft. “Are you drinking again?”

“It’s just a beer,” Dean said.

Mom sighed on the other side of the line. “Dean, it’s never ‘just a beer’. I’m worried about you.”

“I promise I’ll let you know if I’m not fine, alright?” Dean said. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cabinet. “Gotta run. I’ll call you later, Mom.”

On Sunday morning, Dean woke up hung over and aching from the floor of the kitchen. Apparently he sent a dozen drunk texts to Sam’s phone. Sam didn’t call back, but that was par for the course. No big surprises there.

On Monday morning, Dean contemplated calling in sick and decided against it. He needed the money now that Carmen wasn’t here to split the bills with him. So he dragged himself to work.

Business was slow at the garage; it was noon when the first car of the day came. The gold and red paint on the car was so loud that it ought to be illegal. It hurt Dean’s eyes to look at it.

A man stepped out of the car, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He had slicked hair and a slicker smile. “Change the tire for me, will you? I have a spare in the trunk.”

Dean hated him immediately. What kind of asshole didn’t know how to change their own tires?

“Try not to break it, kid,” the man called, strolling to the reception.

Fucking asshole.

He could hear the guy chatting to Nicole all the way from the reception. The guy was asking about local attractions, restaurants, candy shops. They laughed a lot. Dean tuned them out and focused on his work. It didn’t take long for him to change the tire.

“You’re Dean, right?”

Dean turned around to see the driver leaning against the hood of the car. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“How are you liking your life so far?”

“What?” Dean said.

“You really aren’t, are you?” The guy peered at Dean. Since the guy was short, it was more like he was peering at Dean’s chin. “The bozos are actually right for once.”

“Is this a joke or something?” Dean said.

“Nope, I’m dead serious,” the guy said, getting into his car. “Glad to see you’re not planning on going on a return trip to Hell anytime soon though.”

“You’re so messed up.”

“Jeeze, don’t shoot the messenger,” the man said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just here to see what got everyone’s panties in a twist.”

“Whatever,” Dean said. His head hurt from just talking to the man. “I don’t care. Just get out of here. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’ll give you a little hint, Deano: You should read what the Bible said about strangers and angels,” the guy said, as he backed the car out of the garage. “Would teach you a thing or two.”

Dean returned to the office. “Fucking nutjob.”

“Heads up!” Nicole threw something at Dean. He barely caught it as it bounced off his overalls. Nicole said, “The guy left them for you. Said it’s your tip.”

There was a Snickers bar, and a piece of colorful paper wrapped around it.

“Any chance he left me a bag of M&Ms too?” Dean said.

“No,” Nicole said, “but I can take the Snickers if you don’t want it.”

The Snickers bar had gone soft and gooey in the hot Kansas weather. Dean pocketed it in his jeans. “I think I’ll put it in the fridge first.”

Dean smoothed out the piece of paper. It had a crude drawing of a Ferris Wheel and a clown that looked more like a grinning maniac. Next to the graphics were the bright red words: _The Amazing Wonderland Fair!_

“Said he didn’t want it,” Nicole said. “Weird, huh? I never heard of that place.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, flipping the ticket over. “It’s for today. Do you think I should go?”

“You got somewhere else to be?”

Dean considered the ticket. He thought again of the empty house he would go back to that night. “No point in wasting it, right?”

\- - -

The fair was located in an abandoned field just outside of Lawrence.

At the entrance, a teenager with solemn eyes and a baseball cap stared at Dean. The kid was supposed to check tickets, but he didn’t even glance at the ticket that Dean was holding out to him. “You may pass.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean said, trying hard not to make a snide remark about the Lord of the Rings movies.

“Samandriel.”

“Gesundheit.”

“No, it’s my name.” Then the young man added at Dean’s look of confusion, “My name is Samandriel. I am not ‘Man’.”

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Good to know.”

Samandriel nodded, and let Dean passed.

The Ferris Wheel from the ticket could be easily seen. It was at the center of the fair, with small striped tents and stalls forming a loose circle around it. Since it was nighttime, the lights on the Ferris Wheel were switched on, casting a rainbow of colors on the fairgoers.

It took Dean less than ten minutes to find all the amusement rides: Bumper cars and a carousel. Dean was glad he didn’t have to pay for his ticket; otherwise he’d be pissed.

Most of the fairgoers were gathered around a large stall that sold hot food and some small stalls that hosted carnival games, leaving most of the fairground almost empty. A few clowns were scowling from under a thick layer of facepaint, walking amidst the small crowd, and glaring at children that came asking for balloon animals. The rest of the staff wore long glittery robes that covered their feet. It was weird as balls, but Dean didn’t care. People could do whatever they liked with their fairs.

As the night got colder, Dean considered getting a hotdog and popcorns before he headed on home. Might still have time to swing by the liquor store to get few more bottles of Jacks.

A man with a seriously receding hairline pulled Dean aside. He was decked out in a fake white beard and a long blue robe, which didn’t do a thing for his beer gut.

“You got the wrong guy, dude,” Dean said.

The balding man looked surprised. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight than that.”

Dean finally realized that they were standing in front of a tent with a huge blackboard that proclaimed, _The Fortune-Teller is In!_

“No, uh, fortune-telling is not really my thing,” Dean said, trying to pull his arm out of the man’s grip, which was deceivingly strong.

“Do you have any troubles lately? With your girlfriend maybe?”

“I’m sorry?” Dean said.

“Don’t you want to know what went wrong?”

“That’s none of your business,” Dean said sharply.

“I think it’s your drinking problem. Yes. Your mother and brother don’t approve of it, do they?”

“How the hell do you know that?”

The balding man smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Come in for a reading. What could it hurt?”

“I’m guessing at least three bucks.”

“Very funny,” the balding man said, his smile drooping. “I don’t have time for this. It’s one dollar for a reading, are you coming?”

\- - -

When Dean walked into the tent, he was hit with the smell of old people.

The tent was made of a thick purple fabric dotted with what he guessed was supposed to be stars. There was a desk and a shelf littered with trinkets at the back of the tent. Dean spotted a few beaded necklaces there. The only sources of light were candles that were placed around the place; they had small round bulbs on the end instead of flames.

The man sitting at a small round table in the center of the tent was the grumpiest fortune-teller that Dean had ever laid eyes on.

The man wore a large purple turban that matched his robe. However, the most striking part of his costumer was the huge handlebar moustache stuck under his nose, casting a shadow over most of his lower face.

The dim lighting in the tent didn’t compliment the look.

“Uh,” Dean said.

The fortune-teller fixed Dean with a hard blue stare.

“Someone told me I could get a reading here? It was a fat short guy, if it helps.”

The fortune-teller kept staring at Dean. Just as Dean started to get uncomfortable in the long silence, the man spoke, “Please take a seat. I’ve been expecting you.”

Dean glanced back at where he came in. He knew there was a reason why he wasn’t into this shit.

“He’s waiting outside. He’s not going to leave until you get your fortune told.”

Dean saw a shadow under the tent flap. Someone was standing outside. He took a seat across from the fortune-teller. “Is he your pimp or something?”

“Zachariah is my superior,” the fortune-teller said dully. It was amazing how he could pull off that serious look with a giant moustache on his face.

“Hey, I get it. Supervisors are a pain in the ass,” Dean said.

“My ass doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s what he said,” Dean muttered.

The man frowned. “Who?”

“Seriously?” Dean said. The man tilted his head in response, apparently trying to figure out the lewd joke. The guy was friggin’ clueless. “You know what, ignore that. Let’s start over again. Hi, my name is Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel,” the man said.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m kinda new to this. So where do we start?”

“Put your hand on the ball on the table,” Castiel said.

“You mean the crystal ball?” Dean said.

“It is plastic,” Castiel said.

Dean gingerly put his hands on the ball, half-expecting the thing to explode or shoot sparks everything. Nothing happened. The ball was smooth and cool to the touch, like a larger version of the cheap plastic capsules from toy vending machines. Dean jerked and nearly fell off his chair when Castiel put his hands on top of Dean’s. The hands cupped around his were hot, like a radiator.

Dean wanted to crack a joke about how gay it was, but a glare from Castiel silenced him.

Dean waited a beat, then another, then a whole minute. Castiel was frowning down at the ball like it’d personally offended him.

“What do you see?” Dean finally gathered the courage to ask.

“Nothing,” Castiel said. “Perhaps we should try palm-reading.”

“Sure.”

As soon as the word came out of Dean’s mouth, Castiel roughly pulled Dean’s left hand into his hands. It was like the guy didn’t know his own strength.

“Whoa. Don’t you think we should get to know each other better first over dinner?”

Castiel paused in the middle of groping his hand. “Are you hungry?”

“What? No! Forget it.”

Castiel held Dean’s hand too tightly, as he peered down at his palm. Dean could almost hear his own bones grind together between Castiel’s hands.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

“Of course,” Castiel said shortly.

Dean was starting to get uncomfortable. Having his hand held by a dude with a large fake moustache was not what he planned for the night. Dean’s palm was getting clammy, but Castiel’s hands were bone dry.

They were holding hands longer than was polite. They were two men holding hands in a small tent next to a fake crystal ball. Yet Dean couldn’t find it in himself to pull his hand away. It was getting warm under his collar.

“This is pointless.” Castiel released Dean’s hand. He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back. He headed to the shelf in the back of the tent, the one filled with trinkets.

Dean didn’t feel disappointed at not having his hand held anymore, because that’d be weird. “What’s the verdict, doc?”

“Can you wind up this music box for me?” Castiel said, returning with a small wooden box. There was a wind-up key on the side of it. The box was barely held together by rusty nails that haphazardly poked out of the wooden surfaces. It looked like it’d sat too close to a grenade.

“Sure thing,” Dean said. It was difficult to twist the key, since it was rusted. He turned it a couple of times before it refused to move anymore. “The key is stuck.”

“Thank you.” Castiel roughly tugged the box out of Dean’s hands. One of nails on the musical box snagged Dean’s finger. Blood welled on his fingertip and stained the nail.

“Watch it! You scratched me.”

“No,” Castiel said. He carried the music box back to the shelf. He had his back to Dean. “You scratched yourself on a rusty nail.”

Dean sucked at his own finger. It didn’t really hurt, but he didn’t want to risk staining his clothes with blood. “The least you could’ve said was sorry, man. You better hope I’m not infected with tetanus. My brother is a lawyer.”

“I know.”

“What?” Dean said.

Castiel showed no sign of hearing him. It didn’t help that Dean couldn’t read emotions from someone’s back. Instead, Castiel said, “You’re not infected. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah? Did you read that from my palm too?” Dean said.

“No,” Castiel said.

Dean waited for an elaboration. None came. Castiel was busy drawing something on the desk in the back, doing whatever grumpy fortune-tellers did for their routines. Dean said, “Right. Don’t elaborate.”

There was a flash of light from where Castiel was working. Dean had to squeeze his eyes shut because it was so bright that his eyes watered. When he opened them, Cas was sitting across from him at the table, staring at Dean.

“What was that? A flare or something?”

“We were sure it was you,” Castiel said, his face too grave for anyone with a giant turban had a right to be. He looked more serious than Dean had seen him, which was saying something since he hadn’t cracked a single smile during Dean’s entire time with him.

Dean was surprised he didn’t even mind the intense staring anymore. “And what was that?”

“The Righteous Man,” Castiel said. Dean could hear the capital letters in that. Castiel stared intensely at Dean. Dean felt like he would burn any second. “You’re not him.”

Castiel was weird and intense and probably had a few screws loose in his head, but for some reason, Dean was suddenly annoyed by the fact that Castiel saw him as anything but perfect. “I might not be righteous, but I’m not that bad, Cas.”

Castiel huffed in frustration. “No, that’s not it. You don’t understand.”

“Then what is it? You can’t just say something like that and leave me hanging, dude.”

Castiel looked at Dean, searching his face. Dean gazed back. Castiel must have found what he was looking for, because he sighed, and said, “It is foretold that the Righteous Man will begin the Apocalypse, after enduring years of torment in Hell, but he will be saved. The Morning Star will be unleashed, bringing with him the Four Horsemen and the Whore.”

Dean didn’t know why he was listening to this crazy talk. Maybe it was because of the surety in Castiel’s words, or maybe it was because of the gleam in his eyes. Whatever it was, Dean found himself transfixed. “Then what will happen?”

“The Righteous Man will take down the Morning Star, bringing Paradise on Earth.” Castiel looked at Dean with bright eyes. “It is supposed to be you and it is supposed to be set in motion now, but something’s changed. We were wrong. You’re free of this burden.”

Dean felt disappointed, and he wasn’t sure why. “That’s it? I wasn’t this guy, so I get to go home, just like that. What’s the point of telling me all this?”

Castiel squinted at him. “Your destiny is averted, Dean. The road that lies ahead of you can only be forged by you and no one else. Endless possibilities are open to you. You are free to make your choices. That is your future. What more do you want?”

Dean walked out of the tent feeling heady, barely registering Castiel’s goodbye.

The fat balding man was gone, so were most of the staff and fairgoers. Dean looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it was nearly midnight.

When he lay awake at bed that night, Castiel’s words stayed in his head like a large fly that wouldn’t go away. He didn’t know if he felt better or worse after he met Castiel.

He didn’t realize he hadn’t asked Castiel anything about Carmen.

\- - -

The next day was sunny. The sun woke Dean before the alarm did.

A sensible but dusty car drove up to the garage in the early afternoon. The driver rolled down the window when Dean approached him.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” the driver said. He was wearing a cheap suit and a dazed grin that looked too large for his face. Dean wondered if he was too stoned to be driving.

“Yes, it is,” Dean said. For a moment, he was struck by a sense of familiarity. The man’s voice and expressions were wrong, but he could pass for Castiel-sans-moustache. The brief case sitting on the passenger’s seat had a label that read, _Jimmy Novak_. “Do you need help with your car?”

Jimmy said sheepishly, “I think I’m lost. Am I in Illinois?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re in Kansas, buddy. Lawrence, Kansas.”

“I… didn’t expect that.”

“Wild night, huh?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Jimmy smiled. His expression turned blissful; he was probably reminiscing about whatever happened. “Can you point me to Kansas City? I think I can find my way back home from there.”

“It’s not far from here. Take Interstate 70. If you take a right turn down here, you’ll see signs pointing you to it. You can’t miss them.”

“Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” Dean said. The question was eating at him, and he couldn’t help saying, “I know this sounds weird, but I just wanna ask, do you work at a fair?”

Jimmy smiled uncertainly. “No, I’m a radio ad salesman actually.”

Dean scratched his ear, feeling strangely disappointed. “Sorry. Could have sworn I know you. Anyway, good luck with the drive.”

“Thanks. Have a good one,” Jimmy said, before going on his way.

Later that day, a few more people drove by asking for directions. Most were from a few towns over. There were even a couple of Bible-thumpers that Dean couldn’t get rid of fast enough. It was like there had been a massive party or orgy that resulted in mass amnesia, and Dean wondered why he wasn’t invited.

When he passed by the reception on his way home after his shift, his boss and Nicole were busy watching the evening news on the television.

“It’s just like the murder a few weeks ago in Missouri, man,” Nicole said too enthusiastically. “It was a bloodbath. Some maniac broke into a hostel in town, killed everyone, and ate one-third of everyone’s hearts.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Dean said.

“Do you think there’ll be more of those murders?” George said.

“I hope not. Why?” Dean said.

“It may bring some thrill-seekers into town,” George said wistfully. “May get some more business around here. That’ll be nice.”

“Seriously? I can’t believe you’re suggesting that,” Nicole said.

“I can,” Dean said. “See you guys tomorrow. Don’t go ripping people’s hearts out, alright?”

The next weekend found Mom sitting at her kitchen table fondly looking at some new photos that Sam sent her, while Dean worked through one of her cherry pies.

Dean spotted a photo of Sam and Jess holding a pink cotton candy and beaming in front of a Ferris wheel. It looked like the one in Wonderland Fair. Freaky.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother,” Mom said. She hadn’t stopped smiling since she got the news.

“I’m happy for you, Mom,” Dean said, picking at the pie.

Dean didn’t get a letter or a picture. He didn’t even get a friggin’ phone call. It hurt that Sam didn’t care to tell him the big news himself. He knew Sam didn’t think much of him, but he didn’t think they had drifted apart so far.

Guessed Sam was all grown up now; too old and too good for his big brother.

“When will you give me a grandkid, Dean?” Mom teased.

“I dunno, Mom,” Dean said, puting on his most practiced grin. “Aren’t I good enough for you?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll always be my little boy.” Mom laughed. She pulled out a bottle of wine from the pantry, warned him not to drink too much, and they drank to the health of Sam’s unborn baby.

Dean got shit-faced at a bar later that night and picked up a girl with bright eyes that looked too serious for her own good.

Sometimes, as Dean lay awake at night, he thought about Castiel’s words and his warm hands.

There had to be more to the world than Lawrence. More to life than working at a garage on the weekdays, and eating pies at his mom’s house on the weekends, and worrying about the bills at the end of every month.

Dean could just get in the Impala and drive. He could drive out of Lawrence and drop in on Sam and Jess and finally see what the big deal was with California. Hell, maybe he could go and see the Grand Canyon and the Niagara Falls. He’d always wanted to do that.

Maybe he could make something out of his life. ‘No fate but what you make’ was probably what Castiel would say if he were a time-traveling soldier running from killer robots.

But then Dean scoffed, and tossed and turned until he fell asleep. He didn’t have time for fortune-tellers and prophecies that didn’t come true. He had work tomorrow.

The Earth turned.

Dean went on with his life.


End file.
